The Last Time

We talk about the number of "firsts" that parents experience, but rarely do we think about "lasts."  Because as parents, there is so much going on that you don't even realize when something is "the last time."  The last time they wear a cute outfit or the last time they use their baby swing.

It is a weird experience to grieve and be relieved all at the same time and yet, this simultaneous but contradictory experience happened to me recently. 

I chose to breastfeed my children. Having made that choice, though, was always a challenge because I knew that I was solely responsible for the nutrition of our babies. Again, something I wanted and chose to do, but at times, yes, I'll admit it, it was a burden.  I was the one to get up in the middle of the night for feedings, I was the one to calm the baby when he/she was crying, I was the one who suffered from sore nipples, engorgement, leaking and worst of all...mastitis, multiple times. 

But, as challenging as breastfeeding was, it was also one of THE most amazing experiences.

I breastfed my first two children for a year.  I felt that at that point, they could probably get just as much nourishment from food and my supply was weaning by that time. 

Our third baby was not always in the "plan," but some of the best plans are meant to be changed.  I told myself that I would breastfeed for a year, just like I had with other two kids.  A year came and went and my supply had not yet diminished, so I figured, I'll just keep doing it for another month.  And then a month went by and he got sick and so he wanted to nurse a little more and I let him.  And then something else would happen, and so I justified nursing him just a little longer and a little longer.  I began to realize that, although he was fine with nursing, I was the one who needed to continue much more than he needed it.  Yeah sure, it was comforting for him, but by the time he was sixteen and seventeen months, my supply was low enough that I was basically just a pacifier. 

It was so hard to say that this is the last time that I will EVER nurse one of my babies. 

This is something that I've dedicated years of my life to.  This is something that I took for granted hundreds of times. 

I finally told myself that at 18 months, I had to call it quits.  It had to be the last time. 

I picked him up and held him close to me and I watched him.  I watched him like I wanted to burn the image of him nursing into my brain.  I wanted to remember exactly what it felt like as if I hadn't done this thousands of times before.  But, this was the last. 

I cried. Oh my gosh, I cried. It was so hard to come to terms with the idea that I would literally never do this again.  Something that I took for granted for years, something that I often resented and now, more than ever, do I want to continue, knowing it isn't what's best.  

I held him close and watched his beautiful eyes and mouth.  My husband came into the room and initially when he saw how intensely I was crying, I think he thought something was wrong with him, but very quickly realized, it was me.  

It's okay to grieve the last time, just as it was okay to resent some of the many times before that.  I need to remind myself that their are many more times of resentment and lasts that I very much look forward to experiencing in the future.   

Life Lessons Learned At The Amusement Park

You wouldn’t really think that an amusement park is the place where you would take home important life lessons.  A souvenir t-shirt maybe, but definitely not life lessons.  

I’ll set the stage for you. Over priced amusement park that in no way includes the cost of any of the many arcade style games.  I told my two children old enough to play the games that I would give them each $10.00 to play the games unbeknownst to me that any one game costs $5.00 to play at one time.  Seriously, what a rip off, but I digress.  

For said $5.00 game, you get three chances to throw a ball into a nearly impossible pit to win either a small, medium or large plush toy that neither of them would ever otherwise want, totally capitalizing on my easily manipulated children.  

By the grace of God, my then 5 year old daughter literally won on her second throw, winning her a plush Mr. Dinkles from the movie Trolls.  She was ecstatic.  

I think my son assumed the game was easy, so his first $5.00 went to the same game in order to get the plush Sonic The Hedgehog.  It was a no go.  I didn’t tell my daughter, but since she won on her first try, I gave my son her remaining $5.00, so he in fact, got three chances, and not just two. 

Life Lesson #1: If you say you are going to give your children a certain amount for each of them, be sure to do that, even if your daughter doesn’t realize she still has $5.00, because she hasn’t stopped hugging Mr. Dinkles since she won it.  Making decisions based on enabling another child does you no favors in the long run.  

My son decided to play a different game in order to win a plush Power Ranger.  It was a baseball throwing game to knock over a clown and again, $5.00 down the drain in less than 10 seconds.  No plush Power Ranger. 

For his third and final $5.00, he went back to the impossible pit, as he “really wanted” the plush Sonic The Hedgehog.  Throws one and two were a miss and on his final throw, the ball landed in between two holes, one a prize hole and one a non-prize hole.  (That sounds really dirty, but I really have no other way to explain it.)  The worker there walked over to it and I really thought that he could sense my parental pain.  I thought for sure he would give the ball a quick tap and into the prize hole it would go. We could finally walk away with that mother f’ing plush Sonic...but no...he picked it up, and gave it back to my son for another throw and of course, it missed.  No plush Sonic The Hedgehog. 

Life Lesson #2: I can honestly admit that I was mad at that worker for not just tapping it in.  How dare he not just give my child what he wants.  But as I’m writing, I’m embarrassed to admit those thoughts.  I can understand now that it is no one else’s responsibility to enable my son’s anxiety at not getting a meaningless plush toy from an arcade game.  Therefore, don’t expect that everyone else needs to be as cautious of your child’s anxiety as you are.  Want to know something else...I thought about getting more money out of the ATM and probably would have if I wasn’t so cheap.  I also (sigh) thought about just buying the damn Sonic and giving it to him so that he wouldn’t feel upset.  I know, I’m not proud, but sometimes you just can’t help wanting to make your child happy, even at the cost of enabling them.  Rest assured, I didn’t do it.  

Oh my gosh, was he pissed.  I felt for him, but very shortly afterward, I also felt annoyed by him.  I mean, for goodness sake, we were at an amusement park with tons of fun rides.  And...might I add...this was a place that I have absolutely no interest in being.  I literally get dizzy swinging on our backyard swing set, let alone riding amusement park rides.  It was hot and at that time, we were wearing masks, which made it extra hot. Plus, we were dragging around our almost two year old that wasn’t having the heat, so needless to say, I wasn’t excited about the crappy arcade loss attitude. 

Life Lesson #3:  That is the thing about being a parent.  It’s not about us.  I have to assume that very few parents actually want to go to amusement parks.  I mean, they are dirty, expensive and I get sick just looking at some of those rides.  But you know what….I absolutely loved it when I was their age.  And...I remember the disappointment of not getting the toy or not getting the treat.  I get it.  So although I don’t want to enable my son’s anxiety or frustration, I also don’t want to ignore it.  

And last but not least….

Life Lesson #4: When you very infrequently visit amusement parks and your son rides the roller coaster five times in a row, don’t then let him then ride the carousel, because when it’s hot and you become dizzy and nauseous, puke fills up in your poor child’s mask, runs down his clothes and gets all over the beautifully decorated carousel horses.  He shut that ride completely down.  

Lessons learned.

Sometimes our kids are jerks and they need to be called out

Now if that blog title didn't suck you in, I don't know what would.  Anyone out there nodding their heads and rolling their eyes in solidarity?  Yep, me too, and why? Because we know it's true..sometimes our kids are jerks and they need to be called out.  

First and foremost, I want to strongly preface that I love my children.  

Second, they are still jerks sometimes.  

Here's my story...

My husband and I were doing our usual morning dance of getting ourselves and our kids ready for the day.  With three kids and the both of us working out of the home, it is an unsexy salsa-esque dance of brewing coffee, getting as much done before the kids get out of bed, fighting my oldest son, who is uncomfortable in literally any pair of pants and combing through my daughter's rat's nest of a head of hair.  My youngest is typically on the verge of choking on too big of bites of anything because he screams if it isn't "big," rather than being cut into normal size bites.  Whatever dude, I'm too tired to argue, I guess we'll take our chances.  

My husband was able to be at home for a bit longer this particular morning as he was headed to an orientation for a new job. My oldest was sitting at the counter, already annoyed that I was making him study for his Social Studies test that he had conveniently forgot about until the morning of.  I was getting him some cereal and had mentioned to him that his dad was starting a new job today.  I commented that I was so proud of dad for getting this new job, when to my absolute disappointment and disgust, my oldest, rolled his eyes, and said, "Who cares, he's just working with chickens."  

To provide a bit of background, my husband just took a position with a chicken distribution center. He's a Network Tech and works within the company farms and facilities. My very minimal understanding of his day to day is that, he fixes stuff so everything will continue to run smoothly.  

When my son made that comment, I couldn't help but glance at my husband to see how he reacted.  I could tell immediately that it hurt him.  How could it not?  His eyes glanced downward and he shortly thereafter walked out of the room.  

The way in which my husband and I show emotion is very different.  

Even though I talk about emotions for my job, sometimes, its really hard for me to reign it in when I'm really upset and this was one of those times.  Once my husband left the room, I lost my shit, I mean composure. With the meanest eyes and a sharp finger pointed in his direction, I said, "What a jerk thing to say. How dare you treat your  dad like that."  I went on to ask if he had any idea how hard we work to provide for him, yada yada yada.  I'm not entirely sure that the message hit home until I told him to consider how he would feel if he was excited about one of his accomplishments and if his dad or I would have said, "Who cares."  

He started to cry.  I wondered if he was crying because he was being yelled at or if he actually felt bad about how he made my husband feel. Seeing your children cry is so hard. I was inclined to tell him that it was okay and that it wasn't a big deal, but I didn't and I'm glad I didn't, because quite honestly, it is a big deal. It's a big deal to hurt another person and our job as parents is to teach our children accountability and when an apology is necessary.  I needed to, in that moment, teach my son that his actions have consequences and the consequence in this situation is a super sad dad who would literally move heaven and earth for his wildly ungrateful child.    

With a slight prompt, my son went to him, hugged him, and said thanks for going to work for him. It was a heavy morning, but a morning in which an important lesson was learned.  You don't just get to be a jerk and get away with it and sometimes getting called out is the best thing and we are all better for it.  

The Saga of the Forgotten Water Bottle

It was a lovely, although somewhat muggy morning, and my kids and I were waiting in the drop off line at the elementary school circle drive.  We happened to find ourselves behind a parked bus, so the kids jumped out of the car and were going to walk up the sidewalk to the entrance to the school.  After just a moment, my son turned around, came back and knocked on the window, motioning for me to roll it down.  I eagerly complied and fully anticipated a super cute, last minute goodbye and an I love you to start out my day.  Instead, as I rolled down the window, he blurted out, “Did you put my water bottle in my bag?” To which I responded, “No.” Seemingly annoyed, he responded by rolling his eyes and said, “Great! You forgot my water bottle,” and he walked away from the window.  

To give you a bit of context, I asked both of my children earlier that morning if they wanted their water bottles in their bags, because in the days preceding, they came home full of water, which indicated to me that they weren’t needing or using it.  I got zero responses from my fully enthralled, TV obsessed kiddos, so I didn’t put the dang water bottles in their bags. End of story. Well, hardly. :) 

I would have loved to have made a parental stand, if you will, right in the midst of the drop off line, but ain’t no parent got time for that, including myself, so tonight, when he’s forgotten all about it, I’ll totally bring it up. I fully anticipate him not remembering the whole debacle, while I, on the other hand, have obviously stewed about it all day.  

Here’s the thing...I didn’t forget his water bottle...and...if he wants a dang water bottle...I don’t know, maybe he should get it for himself.   

I've come to realize that this is both of our faults. 

Here’s the blame that I’m willing to take.  I need to get out of the house in the morning in order to not be late for work, so I, essentially, am much more motivated than any of my three kids to get moving and get out the door.   I do all the things to get three kids and myself ready to go for the day because I don’t want to be late.   I get the backpacks, I make sure the papers are signed and in the backpacks, I make sure the snacks are packed, the “show and tells” are grabbed AND I usually make sure the water bottles are filled and in their bags and today I just didn’t. 

I need to understand as a parent that, if they are used to someone doing something for them, they are certainly going to learn to expect that...and if that parent forgets to do something for them, then they are  justified in their eye rolls and rude comments, right? 

WRONG!!!!! Well, mostly.  

This is where I won’t take all the blame.  I admit that I’ve done too much for them and that is where I need to change, BUT, it is not okay for them to blame me for something that they should be more capable of doing for themselves.   

I can and should start to expect more.  A great goal would be to start expecting that my kids fill and pack their own water bottles.  Another goal would be, instead of me getting into their bags and signing their daily check in papers, maybe I should wait until they get it and come to me to get it signed and put it back in their own bags themselves?!?! What a crazy concept. 

I’d be totally lying if I said that my own personal control issues didn’t affect my struggle with just doing it for them, because if I do it, I know it will get done and I don’t have to worry about it anymore, right?  Well, that might work for me now, but the thing that we, as parents, have to think about is, how will this work for them next year and the year after and when they are in high school and college?  

So what I’m telling myself is…...if I don’t provide opportunities for my kids to do things for themselves, they won’t AND I need to challenge my own control issues and allow them to do it for themselves, so that they can assume responsibility for their own needs and be accountable to themselves when it isn’t done.  No more of the mom blame game.  Win Win

Obviously, easier said than done, but it helps me to understand, from a larger contextual picture, the value in setting these goals AND why some teens and young adults have issues with behavioral accountability.  How are we to expect a younger generation of adults to exhibit accountability if we never expected them to do it as kids? 

Even though my son hardly remembered his rude behavior displayed that morning and it might have been just as easy to go on with the day and forget it ever happened, I owe it to him, to any friend he might have, to any teacher he might have, to any partner he might have one day, to realize the value in accountability, “owning it” and truly learning from it.  

Grab your own dang water bottle, kid.  

The "Keys" to Success

I was at work the other day, talking to some colleagues when the security phone rang. To give you a bit of context, I work at a small liberal arts college and the security phone is what students call when they have any issues that would require assistance. This one particular call came in and, apparently, this student had accidentally thrown their keys away in the dumpster and was wondering what they should do about it.

Now, I’m not trying to act like some totally self-sufficient bada$$, but if I accidentally threw my keys in the dumpster, rest assured, I’m going in after it.  The amount of effort that it would take to get all new keys made for my house, my mailbox and my car??? That, for me, would be a literal nightmare, even more so than crawling into a dumpster.  (All of this is dependent on the state of the dumpster, of course.)  

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I would be hard pressed leaving that dumpster until I had my keys in hand.  In fact, one time at McDonalds, my Grandpa set his eyeglasses on a tray that was accidentally dumped into the trash and you know what...we went searching through the trash to find them.  Luckily, we did find them and other than a little ketchup smear, no harm was done. My younger sister once lost her retainer at a Chinese restaurant and she, too, went searching through the trash. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite as lucky, nonetheless, she certainly tried.  

To many, we might sound like a family of dumpster divers, but the point I’m trying to make is, we were all doing what we felt we needed to do to solve our problem.  

All in all, it begs the question…..why wouldn’t they?  Why would this student take the time to contact campus security when they have to know that security isn’t going to get into the dumpster for them.  Why is it that nowadays, it isn’t an automatic response to do it yourself.  What is security going to do that they can’t? 

In order to answer this question, I think that we need to consider the experience of each person as an individual.  Specifically, if, in your individual experience, you have had anyone or more than one person step in to solve problems for you, you become, almost trained, to assume and expect that it will happen in the future. If I’m not given the opportunity to solve problems on my own, the next best thing is for someone else to do it for me...AND...if they will, I’ll certainly let them.  

I see this in my own children.  I see how I haven’t given them enough of an opportunity to learn to solve their own problems, because, let’s face it,  “It’s just easier if I do it.”  That is a mindset that I’m becoming more and more aware of and trying desperately to improve upon.  We, as parents, are doing our children a disservice by not allowing them the opportunity to solve problems for themselves, because if they don’t do it when they are young, they certainly won’t do it when they are older.  It is our job as parents to help our children find the “keys” to a successful and self-sufficient future.  

It's a Weird Thing to Watch Your Child Have a Panic Attack

I'm a counselor.

I talk to college students about their experiences with panic attacks all the time.  I'm empathetic.  I validate them.  I help them to understand that panic attacks are not their fault.

Then my son had one.

We were at his 2nd grade basketball game.  For the first 20 minutes or so,  they practice their shooting, do drills, etc and then they play a brief scrimmage against another 2nd grade team for the remainder of the hour. They don't even keep score, although I'll admit, somehow the kids always know who won at the end.

Of course this was the game that my mom and aunt were at.  They were in the area for my niece's band concert the day before and where we live happens to be on the way home for them.  Why not have an audience for our first ever, public panic attack.

My son told my husband and myself that he didn't want to go out for basketball, but, in our defense, he'd never actually played before, other than shooting around at home.  We felt that he could hardly make a decision on whether or not he wanted to do something or liked/disliked something, until he actually tried it.

This was actually our second week of BB.  The first week, he didn't really know what to expect.  He went through the drills and scrimmage, obviously not really knowing what was going on, but essentially, did it without any major issues.

The day of the game, he said he didn't want to go, but that isn't necessarily unusual for him.  He always says he doesn't want to go to school, he doesn't want to go to soccer, but ultimately ends up being fine and even sometimes, says he enjoyed it.

I knew something was wrong right away.  I saw his coach give him some directions on how to cut through the middle of the lane in order to get a bounce pass.  I could tell he was confused and his attitude deteriorated from there. His coach tried to give him an assuring pat on the back, and I saw his shoulder sink to deflect it.  Ugh, I knew.  He walked over to the wall edge, kicked it and had "that look" on his face.

As soon as he did that, we made eye contact and let me tell you, if looks could kill, he would have died instantaneously.  The look on my face and point of my finger was more than enough information to let him know, I was NOT having it. I was not empathetic, I was not validating.  I was absolutely pissed and he knew it.

He walked off the court and went over to the corner of the gym and completely lost it.  I mean, full blown crying, hyperventilating and absolute refusal to return to the court.

The counselor in me was saying one thing and the parent in me was saying another.  Which to listen to.  At first, I tried to walk him through deep breathing.  "In through your nose and out through your mouth."  I reassuringly said, "You've got this buddy."  And when he couldn't calm himself down and was arguing with me about returning to the court, I just couldn't keep my cool anymore.  I did what I always tell myself I'm not going to do.  I started making empty threats.  What did I threaten him with, you ask?  In my anger and quite honestly, embarrassment, I threatened to take away his birthday party.  Yep, I went there.

He cried some more and after a few minutes, we were at least able to sit on the bleachers with his coaches and team, albeit, I'm not sure if that was any better as his crying/inability to breathe was more visible to everyone.

I watched him tug at his throat, gasping for air, saying he was unable to breathe.  I watched his little body shaking. I listened to him express his shame at knowing that people were "looking" at him.

It is one of the worst experiences I've had as a parent.

It is a terrible feeling as a parent, knowing that you could so easily remedy this situation.  If you'd just let him quit, walk out of the gym, he would be fine.  But, in the back of your mind, you absolutely know that the relief that he would feel is only temporary and his fears would return the moment you ask him to finish the remainder of the games. 

After several minutes he was able to calm himself down to at least a point where he could breathe.  He was able to get in the game and although he didn't enjoy himself, at least he (and we) can say that he pushed through the panic and was able to recover from it.  A small feat in and of itself. 

How as parents can you go from being absolutely terrified, to infuriated, to proud and then back to loving your child, all in a matter or moments...it's hard to explain.  I'm still not certain that making him push through it was the right "play," but it was the one I made and the one I will need to live with.  

Despite all the threats, I can assure you, my son will get his birthday party, he will survive 2nd grade Basketball and the emotional intensity of parenting will continue to play out in our life.  I just hope that next time, there is a smaller audience.  

The Angry Mom

Months ago, my friend Amanda tagged me in a post by Facebook blogger, Amy Weatherly, about how she was accepting an award for “Meanest Mom in the Whole World.” It was a satirical post about her son’s dramatic reaction to being made to play outside on a beautiful day. It was really funny and Oh.So.Relatable. I can imagine my own children nominating me for a very similar if not the exact same award. In fact, the reason she tagged me in this post is because of a story I told her about my own son and something he said to me recently. It was a few weeks ago and my husband and I were doing our usual choreographed weeknight dance of getting home from work, getting kids from daycare, starting supper, getting the two older kids a snack before supper because they are “starving,” asking about their day, looking at and complimenting homework/artwork, diffusing arguments between the two, nursing the baby and/or getting the baby in the high chair so that he can throw all of his food on the floor, listen to baby scream while making supper and listening to all the questions my four year old daughter can muster. As I am cutting chicken nuggets into bite size pieces, my 7 year old son says, “Mom, why are you so angry lately? You are meaner than you used to be.” Queue eyes closing, head dropping and the tight, anxious muscles in my neck and shoulders sinking. It was as though any energy that I had left in my body just disappeared. It’s hard to describe, but I bet everyone knows that feeling when guilt consumes you. It is this really heavy uncomfortable feeling that engulfs your body and mind. You are hyper-focused on that which is making you feel guilty and super distracted simultaneously. Your mind is racing, but your body isn’t moving at all. You are staring but seeing nothing. It’s pretty terrible, actually. And...I have it a lot, but especially when he asked me that question.
"Why are you so angry lately?" All I could think about was how hard I try to be a good mother. I feel like I try super hard even when I don't feel good and even when I’m really tired. I feel like I put on a great face even when I don’t want to. This little question hurt me to the core. I couldn’t just drop everything right at that moment, so I told him that it was important that we talk about it, but that we would have to do it after supper. I thought about it while I ate and I thought more about it while I cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes. I thought about it when I cleaned up the baby and when I put the baby in the bath. I thought about it while I was nursing the baby and putting the baby to bed. So many thoughts about it. In the time between when he asked me that question though, and when we actually had a chance to talk about it, I kinda had a change of heart, an epiphany, if you will. I will admit that his perception was actually pretty accurate. I probably was more angry than I had been before. With work and the baby and with all of his and his sister’s needs, there was a lot to do and honestly, a lot to get angry about. But...was it fair to me to say that I was becoming angrier? Was it fair for me to take on the entire blame that his perception of me had changed? Hmmmm….. Or….. Were their legitimate “things” that were happening that justified my perceived anger and was it me that needed to change or were those the “things” that needed to change? I’m going to rewind a few weeks to a conversation that my husband and I had about the challenges we were having with our older son and daughter and how moody we felt they had become. And not only the moodiness, but the whining. Not your run of the mill whining, but whining with a fatal frequency. I always assumed that the lack of patience and eye rolls didn’t start until kids became teenagers, but alas, we have hit that stage hard and fast. And...I will admit...that type of behavior and blatant disrespect makes me angry. The lack of appreciation for the amount of energy that is put into these kids apparently makes me an angry and mean mom. And...rightfully so… Disclaimer: I don’t want to say that I have bad kids, because I certainly don’t. They are the absolute loves of my life and I would, quite literally, do anything for them. All things considered, they are pretty dang amazing and I’m lucky to be their mom. End Disclaimer At the point in which we finally had time to talk about this, my heart and mindset had changed. I approached this conversation differently than I thought I would. I originally thought I was going to approach this conversation by apologizing to my kids for my lack of engagement and my lack of energy. To assure them that I would no longer be an angry and mean mom, but that I would do better, try harder and blah blah blah. Me to my son: “What do you think makes me angry?” Him: “Um..I don’t know..when we don’t listen?” (Stated like a question) Me: “Yes, that’s very true. So, why do you think I sometimes yell at you and your sister?” Him: “Um.when we are fighting?” (Stated like a question) Me: “Hmm, so, you kinda understand why I get angry, then? Do you think that if you listened to me and if you didn’t fight so much with your sister, that I wouldn’t be quite so angry or mean?” Him: “Um..okay.” Me: “Okay, so is it that I am more angry and mean or is it that there are some things that you and your sister do that cause it?” Him: (Silence) Him: “We do it?” (Stated like a question) Me: “So, if you listened to me and fought less, do you think I would be less angry and mean?” Him: (Hesitation) “Yes?” (Stated like a question) Fast forward to later in the evening. Him: “Can we go outside and play together?” Me: “Sorry honey, angry moms don’t go outside and play with their kids.” Him: “But, I didn’t mean that. Ugh.” (Eyeroll) (Frustration) Fast forward to even later in the evening. Him: “Are you coming in to give me a back scratch before I go to bed?” Me: “Sorry honey, angry moms don’t give back scratches before bed.” Him: (Eyeroll) “Mom, can you stop this? I didn’t mean it. You are nice.” Me: “Do you really mean that or do you just want a back scratch?” Him: (Pulling up his shirt and rolls over so that he is ready for a back scratch) I mean it, so can I have a back scratch now?” Maybe he meant it, maybe he just really wanted a back scratch. In my everyday world with my children, I often feel like I have very few “wins,” and this felt like one. The difficulty in being a parent, for me, is that I always feel like what I have to offer isn’t enough. As a person who is tremendously dependent on validation, my kids and probably any kids, just aren’t very good at providing that. So, if I want them to be better at it, I am the one that has to teach them that. If I were to have accepted that guilt, to have apologized and tried harder and harder and harder, when is it ever going to be good enough? When is my effort ever going to be good enough? And...if this pattern is repeated and subsequently strengthened, my children are going to develop a very un-empathetic (is that a word?) and entitled way of thinking, right? Yikes, scary stuff and a testament to the influence of parental decisions. I think it is important to note that I do need to remind myself ways in which I can be more patient and ways that I can be the best mom that I can be, but also, I think it is important to know that “the perfect mom” or “the perfect parent” doesn’t exist. I think that I get caught up in trying so hard and keeping my expectations so high that my children also then, have unrealistic expectations about what my husband and I can accomplish or provide for them. All of us, myself, my husband and my kids are a work in progress. Our family dynamic is and continues to be a work in progress. There is a lot of frustration, but a hell of a lot more love and I like those odds. Just as I am not perfect, neither are my children, and as you all know, they have good and bad days. But, continue to expect more of them. Continue to teach them empathy. Continue to teach them the importance of appreciation. Maybe then, you won’t be so angry.